Even the French don’t get it right every time. One of my recent spa visits, to a facility in the Champagne region outside of Paris, was a crushing disappointment. However, although I didn’t enjoy the experience, in an effort to turn sour grapes into bubbly, the following is a description of some of the low points in the hopes that conscientious spa owners can learn from this list of what not to do.

* Before I arrived, the spa director gave me the wrong address, forcing my taxi driver to drive around the city for 45 minutes.* When I finally arrived at the spa, nobody on the staff spoke English, leading to a less-than-amusing game of charades in an effort to sort out my appointment.* The changing area was down a flight of stairs so narrow it would be difficult for anyone who had indulged in just one too many crêpes to navigate.* The men’s area was tiny enough to make it difficult to remove my clothes—when I raised my arms, they smacked the walls. The robes were ill-fitting, as well, and worst of all, I was presented with a diminutive paper thong to wear during my treatment.* Traversing the dark, narrow corridors, I smacked my head on a low-hanging door jamb.* The treatment rooms were situated in a semicircle around a hydrotherapy pool—one of the spa’s common areas—and the voices of the other clients were easily heard throughout my service.* Settling onto the treatment table, I discovered there was a candle burning directly under the face cradle. Within a few minutes, the flame had sucked up all of the oxygen and was beginning to burn my face.* I had requested the gommage body treatment and a massage. After the gommage, the therapist remained in the room and waited as I showered off the product—in my thong.* Since none of the staff members spoke English, I left without a retail recommendation, embarrassed and certainly not anymore relaxed than when I had arrived.

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